


The Diary Of Jiraiya

by Itachi_S_Lucius



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Character Study, Emotional Hurt, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Focused on Jiraiya, Gen, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jiraiya Needs a hug, M/M, Protective Uchiha Madara, Protectiveness, Reincarnation, Romance is not large, Secret Identity, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, This Is STUPID, Torture, Uchiha Clan-centric, Uchiha Madara Has Issues, War, Warring States Period (Naruto), technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itachi_S_Lucius/pseuds/Itachi_S_Lucius
Summary: Jiraiya knew his life had been plagued, or at least he held a strong suspicion. This is the story of his life, as he knew it to be, in’s and outs, terrors and comforts. All that his parents had left him in love and in incident.A complicated boy, teen, adolescent, and man: born to a mother of wind and a father of fire. (This is a MadaNaru: BUT it is FOCUSED on Jiraiya)
Relationships: Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Diary Of Jiraiya

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely made up of my own Headcanon that Jiraiya is the son of Uchiha Madara, so if you complain about it not being accurate to canon, you can fucking deal, I’m not adhering to whining children. That will be your only warning.
> 
> Another warning: This is set within the A/B/O dynamics, so some titles may be masculinized or feminized in accordance with the secondary gender. Example: (A Father, is whomever the Alpha of a relationship is male or female. A Mother is whomever the Omega is, male or female.)
> 
> Can be read as if related to "Eras" but that was not the intent

_Date: 3rd Day of The Azure, Within The 2nd Year Of the Mito Dynasty_

* * *

Sat inside a hut built by his clan for temporary refuge did not provoke feelings of vast comfort, but rather the delirium of having long foregone pupils staring down upon him in judgement. His hand was steering with the quick pace of one too accustomed to writing in necessity, it hurt some of his pre-broken fingers to direct the brush, still, he did keep the simple simper on his face. There was no one else surrounding, not a chakra presence to detect and he was huddled underneath an unassuming cloak that purveyed him as a common travelling child scurrying away from the war outside the walls. His notebook was hardly protected by the slant of the roofing, but as no rain had splattered on its pages he spared the precipitation little thought. The journal was an olden thing, made of leather and leaf paper; his Father had bought it for him a few years priour, and he had every intention of keeping it protected.

As it were, now, he was sitting inside the farthest region of his clan's district. Pretending to himself that tears weren't gathering beneath his eyelids.

There were none to look upon him and recognize his figure, none from the village would astray so far from their warm-cast protected housing. And his clan would not come up to him and ask for his reasonings of sitting in the cold and writing in a diary; he knew well enough, they considered it to be his -personal- methodology of coping with his Father's absence and his Mother's death, and he made no attempt to correct that which was factual enough reasoning.

There was little to write of for yesterday; save a casually thrown insult, the irritated yelling he had heard come from his godMother's office, and the small Tsunade crying over her toy being taken carelessly. Overall, Jiraiya jotted down the day as a plain one in his book, a slight grin on his face as he did so, the crooked smile of his Father shown on his features. Before he hid the journal inside his large-fit flame embroidered robe and jumped down from the too-high walkway of the hut and straight into the puddle beneath his feet. Cringing at the feel of cold water on his ankles, and irritated by the water splashed onto his trousers, he still shrugged and continued on his way. Glancing about himself without much a care, there was none to see in note, as he had witnessed all around him before; the persons passing in and outwards their shops remained as it had each morn, the people about had made nothing but a clothing change as they wondered around the roads: just as he did.

His eyes came cast down to those dampened pebbles beneath him, wonderence upon his mind as he walked; the question of if he were in the same looping monotony as all the common civilians about himself; and if such droll commonality was the reasoning of which his Father had left. For all his wise, logical, tactical trained methods, the young man had yet to find a reason for his Father's leaving of the village he had, himself, built in earnest.

The frown curved at his lips once more, though he strained his mouth to keep forth the appearance of joviality as he so naturally did- the express did not filter across his visage; it turned matted and that which had been stoicism formed into stern set desolation overturning his features. Jiraiya could not keep the expression firm set, and though he continued to walk, no benevolence kempt his visage into one of familiarity to those who knew the dark-eyed boy well. His shoe kicked at the small rocks beneath him and the sound crinkled in his ears with a subtle 'tap-tap-tapping' only a stone could truly make. Did so the water of the river nearby, and he turned to look for the curiosity; to unexpectedly find the figure of Hashirama Senju throwing stones at the flowing river. Once the man had finished with one, and it had 'clanked,' dull, against the opposing bank, he would just as soon pick up another and toss it quickly; as if he were punishing the water for a crime Jiraiya could not comprehend.

To watch, Jiraiya pulled at his book tucked tight in his loose yutaka. Writing a note in vaguest description, the visual presented before him; the twisting features marring the Hokage's face as he tossed away each rock. The glare over his brown hazel-tinted irises as he swung his arm with ferocity, the tightening of his lips to form a scowl, the black-haired boy could not fully understand for why. Further-so, the comprehensible, empathetic tear streaks that shone over the sun-enriched skin of his Father's old friend; newly blurred pale with the smear of makeup the salt and liquid had washed away from his cheeks which glinted underneath the shine of the sun. Jiraiya wrote down the sight with all the perception he could muster the acknowledgement of, and he stared at the strange vision it made to a youth of his age. He tucked the notebook in his flame yukata, with the sigh of a grown man, forcing himself to cast his gaze away, as he wandered back to his vacant -lonesome, house; already his spirit apprehensive of his Father's absence.

The rain, perhaps, dampened his mood into a thing more desolate then the commonality of his vibrananced personality would dictate unto him.

For, he walked the streets in feigned ignorance of his own lonely mind. He took notice of those from his clan casting their gazes his way, sympathetic in their expressions but unempathetic, for while they might know well of his situation, they in their familiarity unto each other could not comprehend his internal exile: Jiraiya, still, came to smile at each person he saw whom glanced at him with sorrow in their narrow understanding, waving in occasion in good thought and welcoming of their kindness. Tanned lips upturned in the best gesture of his own gratitude; behind the expression; carefully hiding the sorrow he felt at having lost his family name -despite the protection it offered him to be nameless, it burned at his honour and pride to have it forgone.

For unto a village whom would have the man killed. Jiraiya, still maintained and acknowledged himself as the son of Uchiha Madara, despite the knowledge that harbouring such a title would have him at the blade of a katana within moments of declaration. The thought of his Father tightening his chest in the absence of the man, and he breathed deeply in steadiment, his eyes astraying to the corner closest to him. To see the Yamanaka clan's Patriarch speaking with a particular ire plainly set upon her visage. Jiraiya's eyes narrowed at the sight, for he knew the woman as a old friend of his Father, she was as an Uncle unto him, as a family friend. He hadn't known she was within Konoha, though her presence did not particularly shock him; her speaking with her Father's 'rival,' Tobirama, was, in slight. Though, Tobirama was his godFather, by his Mother's decree. He turned himself to their direction.

Yamanaka Inoma was the Patriarch -the head Alpha- of the Yamanaka clan, a kin whom rejected the concept of adjoining themselves within the domestication of a village construct. Preferring to keep as a warrior clan within the wars, though they aided their Uchiha allies when needed outside the village territories. In a whole, as Jiraiya knew them, they were a clan who kept strict unto their traditions; wearing few clothes save a skirt or trousers, sparsely using their chakra in battle, they preferred to ambush their enemies with the usage of traditional spears, traps, and camouflaging themselves amongst the bushes with body paint. They were in a sense, a testimony to true tradition within the Land of Fire. He knew that his Father had deeply respected them.

The air was freshly ensnared with the grasping scent of newly made dew which permeated the breeze as something only the morning could gift, a washing chill so rarely felt it comforted his mind and body. However, before he could walk to his in-named Uncle, his arm was grasped tight, pulled taught upwards, and in glance he saw the familiar sight of his godMother's brunette beauty had gripped his arm, though he had no reason for why. The Omega did not look down unto him, made no explanation, and his eyes were as they had been at the bank; cast shallow with an emptied appearance, that which Jiraiya felt the instinctual urge to fight against. The frown over his godMother's features was odd and unfamiliar, though in his height, Jiraiya did find himself drug along with the man- towards the Hokage building as it were. Apprehension arose within his mind at the sight, not comprehending the intention, but somehow knowing it to be a bane unto himself. Fright grasped within him, as the further they moved, his un-familial 'Aunt' forced his feet and kept his own lips sealed in a complete silence; that which Jiraiya had never known from the man. The mounting confusion nary had the small boy calling out for his Father: In knowing that his Dad would come should he hear his shout, he forced himself to remain quiet, though made promise to himself that he would scream should the situation become dangerous; as it were, he trusted his godMother, even if the man could be eccentric at times, the circumstances had yet to suggest danger unto him.

They moved into the building, and he was pushed, gently- he noticed, into the far room. Despite himself and the clamping in his chest and abdomen, the small Uchiha -though unnamed- made himself examine his surroundings. Taking quick notice of the various candles about the room, he also saw that there were sealing-kunai burrowed within the wood jutted upwards, in ominous dictation of a ritualistic intent. With sweat gathering at his brow, his fingers shook as he glanced down, only to find himself within the bounds of a binding circle, hyperventilation took him then.

"Hashi-Oba, what… what are you doing?" Fright had taken his mind, and though his eyes were beginning to water while his arms wrapped tight around his figure, shaking in their grip, he wanted to understand the situation. His voice was neither strong nor forceful as he would wish as he spoke, it was trembled, encased in a fear clearly heard throughout the room. Much to his own desolation, he had hardly a reply. The Hokage afore him, breathed a deep, shaken, breath and brown irises flickered about the room away from his own figure, darkened brown hands coiled into fists, and Jiraiya watched as eyelids closed and a fragile express tensed into resolution.

A soft voice spoke to him then, as shaken as his own."I am sorry Jiraiya if there were another method-" The door then opened with a gentle creaked sound, and Hashirama turned his attention then to his brother's entrance. Black eyes stared in a mounting anger as the trapped boy noticed both his godMother and godFather's presence. He backed in slight, vaguely acknowledging that to run would be foolish whilst around two of the finest shinobi within the village, yet still, Jiraiya did know that if he could run into the boundaries of the Uchiha district, then his kin would protect him. However, he was halted by the sting of sharp fire against his back in an abrupt flare of pain, he shrieked at the shock and fell down. He glanced to the edge of the sealing circle, shuffling himself into the center, and biting at his lip, he was trapped by an entrapment seal. Wanting to cry, he forced his tears down, and listened into the conversation adjacent.

"The Yamanaka is distracted, I know not for how long however; we have precious little time." Jiraiya grit at his teeth, acknowledging now why his godFather had been speaking with the Patriarch of the Yamanaka.

"The Uchiha?" Hashirama asked, though he was quiet, his voice hardly above a whisper to the muted room.

"Should not be a concern until after the sealing." Now uncertain for himself, Jiraiya turned his gaze unto the two persons he trusted most within Konoha. Wanting to cry out for his Father, he once again made his throat still from the action, instead, he questioned them in a shuttering voice that shook at every word.

"Why are you-" No finish came however, as they both took their positions in rapid succession and he was silenced from thought as pain cascaded unto his form. The scream he had managed to keep quiet, came forth in a different manner:

Not as a call for his Father's aid as all of Uchiha blood so possessed, but rather one of unparalleled pain. Overwhelming as it descended upon him. The waves, first made over the frontal of his brow becoming as the feel of a great pressure forcing down upon his brain clasping down and around at his lobe, his body fell over at the sensation harsh onto the wooden floor; but no feeling came to him. Once done, the next formed upon his eyes as a rip of flesh, one he recognized from a mistake years priour, accumulating from the back of his retinas as if a kunai were mangling his flesh. In an attempt to sooth, he scrapped with bluntened nails at the skin of his chest; forcing slight cuts into the first layers of skin, then arching his back upwards at the sensation in a vain instinctive hope of straying from the floor. Blackened runes climbed upon his body in a slow maliceful vision of binding, his very blood in rejection of the process began to burn beneath his scraping nails.

Raven-toned hair pooled against the floor, the screaming continued as the follicles turned white. Tanned cheeks becoming indented with red binding marks attached to greyed eyes, becoming ensharpened points from the corners. A deep breath taken sharply from the side, Jiraiya began to breathe himself. Crying now as his eyes allowed the tears to fall. Weeping, "daddy...daddy, daddy-" The sobbing made in tandem with another pitiful sob within the room. In weakened motion, black irises flickered right, before all sight left the boy.


End file.
